


What’s Your Pleasure?

by Meduseld



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Canon-Typical Behavior, First Time, M/M, Mild Internalized Homophobia, Sharky being Sharky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:28:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26842891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meduseld/pseuds/Meduseld
Summary: “Sharky” Dep says behind him, voice goingdangerouslycalm “why do you have a crate full of dildos?”
Relationships: Sharky Boshaw/Deputy | Judge, Sharky Boshaw/Male Deputy | Judge
Comments: 11
Kudos: 30





	What’s Your Pleasure?

When they hit Boshaw Manor, Sharky says he’ll check under the bed and tells Dep go through the drawers. 

“Should I be concerned that you apparently misplaced a claymore?” he says, and that’s just fucking mean. He didn’t misplace it, he’s just not sure where exactly in his bedroom it is. 

He owned more than one, and before this Seed mess putting them to use they were a bitch to hide from his parole officers. So what if maybe he doesn’t know their locations at all times, whatever, it's not like they’re his kids or something. 

Sure, he might have an affection for them that borders on paternal, but they can’t get up and walk away or stick their fingers in his electrical sockets. Which reminds him, one stray spark _will_ turn his house into a fireworks show and he should really, really get started on cleaning up. If the murderous cultists let him live that long. 

So he’s more than a little distracted when Dep gives up on the drawers and moves into the open closet, making noises of disgust at the stray bullets and cherry bombs on the floor. Like his place is so clean. If he even has a place.

Sharky’s actually not sure about that, which is a bit sad. He’s crashed on the couch a couple of times but so has pretty much everyone else and Sharky’s spent plenty of nights on floors he didn’t own. Something about being under siege by fanatics just brought a community together. 

He’s discovering some very ratty old socks, that could be repurposed for Molotovs now that he thinks of it, and a couple of flares under his bed, and _fuck yes_ there’s the goddamn claymore, when something snaps him right back to full attention. It’s the fucking tone. 

“Sharky'' Dep says behind him, voice going _dangerously_ calm “why do you have a crate full of dildos?” and then he’s suddenly aware that his ass is probably on full display, crack and all, and crawling out from under his bed is impossible to do with dignity. 

Especially when he’s dragging the claymore out too. 

He can feel the fucking dust bunnies on his face when he says, “look it’s all Joseph Seed’s fault, okay?” and watches the Dep’s eyes do something _interesting._

The man’s face goes to stone more often than not but those eyes? Always talking. It’s why Sharky looks at them all the time. 

It’s not just that they’re so blue you could swim in them. 

And anyway, that’s why Sharky knows the guy is angry like 90% of the time, and always ready to burn shit down. It’s why they get along. 

“Okay so one of the first signs of their absolute psycho crazy was that they banned sex toys, right? Like. For being immoral or whatever. Even though everybody has a right to go fuck themselves” and yeah, Dep is giving him the do-you-have-brain-damage look. 

To the point that he can’t even laugh at the fact that he’s holding a sparkly purple dildo like it might bite him. It hasn’t even been used, anyway. He’d picked a more neutral color, feeling just a teensy bit gay. Yeah, he can see the irony.

“They passed it, like into county law. Back when they were doing things mostly legal instead of just, y’know. Drugging and killing. But if you ask me, not letting people go to town on themselves is the _real_ crime” he adds because it’s true. Seriously, their anti-fuck crusade is truly deranged. People should be able to get their freak on. 

Sure, Sharky’s helped beat up on sickos in lock up, but if everyone’s grown and into it, he’s not gonna judge. John Pete in county used to give inmates free legal help, and everyone knew he had a full on wolf suit and not for hunting, if you followed, and he was a good guy. 

At least part of that might have been out loud, going from Dep’s eyes. 

“So you were what. Stocking up?” Dep says, his voice still too flat to bode anything Sharky can guess at. Well, there’s also a slight tinge of shocked disbelief, probably at the fact that there’s a good hundred or so in the crate. 

“Nah, nah, see, Auntie Addie called them sexually frustrated prudes and protected the store from the Peggies. They all looked like zombie extras in a movie. It looked like they were gonna ransack it, I think. At least they didn’t have anything useful if they were planning to burn it. There was a mob of them anyway, and Addie had to get her guns out. Or she started with her guns out, I don’t know. Y’know, now that I think about it, maybe we should have let them, maybe they’d have taken some home and used them and not gone crazy murderous ‘cause they were nicely fucked-” 

“ _Sharky_. Focus” 

“So after we got them to disperse, the owner decided to get the fuck out of Dodge. Smart. But we weren’t leaving and no way were they just gonna leave it there. Those Peggies were coming back one way or another. so Auntie Addie took some supplies home for personal use and I figured, well there’s about to be a dildo shortage, and a man with a supply could make some money selling them. It would be a good cause and all, giving out orgasms. Only I never got to because then the Seeds went full Norman Bates on the entire fucking county. The world’s probably next. It’s a shame that they’re just sitting there, I only tried to use it that one time-” this time Sharky cuts himself off. 

He never fucking meant to say it. Or admit it to anyone but himself. 

But apparently this whole thing, right down to getting shot at together, just lulled him into a false sense of security. Enough to forget that that’s dangerous territory, even at the best of times, and he’s never seen that particular look in Dep’s eyes. 

It kind of reminds him of Jacob’s judges, or Peaches, and that’s probably not good. Sharky’s not edible, after all, even if he is made of meat. No matter what Jacob might fucking say, the psycho. 

But if he actually says _fish are friends, not food_ , Dep might straight up shoot him. 

“What do you mean?” Dep says, and yeah that controlled tone is fucking scary. 

Even if Dep staring him down, looming over him and holding a dildo is starting to send weird pulses to his brain, and the head in his pants too. 

“I just. Well I tried it once, when things weren’t this crazy yet, but I didn’t really feel good or, maybe it wasn’t that, but. I don’t know, I don’t have any experience to work with. I just know I didn’t…” 

“Didn’t what, Sharky?” and yeah, that’s probably what the Big Bad Wolf sounded like before he ate Little Red Riding Hood. Maybe Sharky’s edible after all. 

“I didn’t get off. I didn’t try again” he says, and for a moment there’s silence. 

He’d chucked it into the Henbane, cheeks burning, when he was done.  
Not something he wants to think about, now or ever, especially with the possibility of death and sort of things left undone so close and clear and present these days.

Sharky tries not to fidget, waiting on the dirty floor, because he’s pretty sure there’s matches in his pants that might get lit if he moves the wrong way. And pocket burns _hurt_. He learned that the hard way. 

“Sharky…” Dep says, shakes his head, and those eyes are so goddamn blue. 

Sharky’s been scared before, plenty of times, but not like this, not exactly. Not when he doesn’t know what he’s scared _of_. It’s not Dep himself, he’s sure of that much, but of whatever this is leading to. 

“I’m going to ask this exactly once. Do you want me to fuck you?” and that was the last thing Sharky was expecting. 

It hits him like a punch to the gut. Given by a sledgehammer. It’s really fucking _hot_. 

“Yes. I mean yes _please_ , holy shit are you serious?” and then somehow Dep’s hands are snaking down the back pockets of his jeans and Little Sharky is happily grinding into Dep’s thigh. 

So he’s what if he’s always had a hard on for things that could kill him, at least he’s honest about it. 

“It’s different. When it’s someone alive. Someone who knows how to do it” Dep rumbles into his ear and he smells awesome, like sweat and fuel and pine needles and skin. 

“Oh yeah, I’m _down_ , I mean, I know you have some primo dick, man, like I said I wouldn’t peek when you were in the stream that one time but-” “I noticed” Dep laughs, and the wet huff against his neck makes Sharky want to rip off his pants right then and there. 

They can figure out the logistics, right? He probably has some kind of lube. Or something. 

Gun oil at the very least. 

He can’t believe he’s even thinking about it. He can’t believe how easy it is to think about it. 

“I’ve never even kissed a dude and I need your dick in me like right _meow_ because-” which, of course, is when the fucking radio goes off. 

The claymore that was for tonight is the claymore for this fucking second, according to Mary May screaming on the other end and Dep growls. 

Sharky grabs the claymore and they’re off. 

It’s not bad, it’s what passed for fun in Hope County, deep fried Peggies and running through the woods like Robin Hood and Little John being chased in the Disney movie. 

Sharky’s no John Peter, but he can see what you might see in that literal fox, you know? 

The point is, he’s trying to remember the fucking lyrics to the song, because it’ll keep him up all night if he doesn’t, sitting in only his boxers on his bed because ugh, his clothes were gross and he doesn’t feel like moving right now, or ever, when the door opens.

He reaches for his gun, even though he’s 65% sure it’s Dep. Sharky did kind of promise him sex, if they lived. Maybe said those exact words in the car at some point.

But after the whole run through the not-jungle, Dep had jumped into a pickup for something else they all fucking needed from him, while Sharky caught a ride home. 

It’s a little worrying, how hard he pushes himself, how much weight he piles on his shoulders. The man needs to relax. 

Hopefully while fucking Sharky into oblivion. He’s been told friendships are about give and take: Dep can give it and Sharky can take it. 

Of course, he’s never been friends with anybody he’s slept with, which is a little sad, now that he thinks of it. Not that he’s done a lot of sleeping with much of anybody, truth be told. Experience with a man would really just be more experience.

And he wants to, with Dep. Still does, even with the afternoon’s crazy by and gone, adrenaline fading.

It is Dep, anyway, looming in the narrow doorway to his room. looking a little wild and a lot muddy. 

“You alright?” Sharky says because he’s not a bad friend, after all, and Dep might need something else from him tonight. He’d be happy to give it. 

“I said I’d only ask once. So. Is your answer the same?” Dep says, and yeah, _fuck yeah_ it is. 

“You sure you don’t want to rest a bit?” he says, because Dep’s eyes shutter hard when he answers. 

“I’m sure. There’s never any time, I don’t want to run out” he says and leans forward in a way Sharky can’t quite read, beyond that collapse might be imminent. 

That would be okay too, honestly. Dep needs the rest.

Then suddenly Dep pulls back, those big hands pulling on his belt and it’s so fucking hot that Sharky’s rock fucking hard, just like that. 

“Take those off” Dep growls and Sharky scrambles, flustered enough that he misses the show of Dep kicking out of his jeans. 

He leaves the shirt on, which annoys Sharky in a way he can’t articulate. Sharky knows what he looks like, all the scars, it shouldn’t be a thing. 

He’s too distracted by that dick though, even more beautiful than he remembered. 

Maybe the fact that he thinks of dicks as beautiful should have tipped him off to how bad he wants this. 

Dep is hard and red, leaking and straight and cut and yeah, Sharky’s mouth is watering a little. 

Especially when he realizes that Dep’s shaking a clear little bottle he must have busted into a drug store for. 

“I don’t have any condoms,” he says, already a little sex stupid. Dep snorts. 

“We’ve bled on each other plenty, and we can worry about chlamydia when this is over. It’s not like I can knock you up” he says and he’s joking but that idea just sends another sharp bolt of arousal to his groin. 

Sharky’s legs spread on their own, even as one of Dep’s hands, and _wow_ those callouses sure do feel different like this, wraps around his thigh. 

Sharky is trying to think of something to say beyond “mh-uhm” which is the embarrassingly loud sound he made at the lube cap popping, but then one of Dep’s fingers is actually literally in him and he’s not a small man. Those aren’t small hands. 

And Sharky’s suddenly keening like he’s fucking dying because it feels _so fucking good_. 

It had never felt that way when he’d tried to do it to himself, always vaguely ridiculous and overly aware, too clearly reminded that he could get himself off faster by putting his hand on his dick and forgetting the whole thing. 

But Dep? It’s like he has a map to Sharky on the inside, doing something that feels awesome and filling even as it just makes him ready and eager for his cock. 

Gagging for it, which he might be saying out loud. 

“Okay, please, dick in me now, it’s a good dick, Dep, _please_ -” and it’s the wrong thing to say, apparently, because Dep’s eyes flash like he’s a fucking anime character and his fingers are gone and Sharky’s extremely empty, _bad_. 

“Jordan'' Dep says quietly and Sharky whines, too pliant and half-fucked to follow. 

“If I’m going to fuck you, use my name. _Jordan_ '' he says and then his fingers are back and Sharky doesn’t so much say it as scream it. 

“Ready baby?” Dep whispers into his neck, drawing back and Sharky makes grabby hands and doesn’t mind the pet name because his dignity took a hike around the time he started begging for Jordan Rook’s cock. 

He almost comes just looking at him lining up, but Jordan’s faster, one of those stupidly strong hot hands squeezing the base of his cock in the worst-best mix of pain-pleasure _ever_. 

Jordan actually fucking smirks at him, all sharp teeth and its hot but frustrating and then suddenly _oh, oh!_ because he can feel it. 

Pushing inside him. 

That fat fucking head, red hot and so hard and so silky and perfect and he was right because Sharky’s never felt like this, never been fucked like this, never been so full and never loved it, and wow, he might actually be gay. Huh. 

He doesn’t mind because it’s all so fucking good. He can literally see fucking sparks at the drag of Jordan’s dick in him and it’s not scary or weird or gross because it’s Jordan and it’s special and Sharky will treasure this moment for his entire life and not just because his brain is pretty much a puddle of dopamine. 

So of course what actually comes out of his mouth is “oh fuck yeah, that’s perfect, I love your dick. Do me harder” and Jordan laughs and moves his hips and yes there it is. 

His hands are wrapped around Sharky’s thighs, holding him open, maybe even bruising him which happens to be a hot as fuck thought, moving him like a rag doll and he’s literally never been happier. 

Only a little bit of flame would make this impossible to top but he’s pretty sure Jordan wouldn’t like that. Now anyway. 

Maybe he can get him to do it over the hood of a car after they blow something up and his dick literally pulses at that, happily smearing pre-come where it’s trapped between them. 

Sharky’s hands are starting to roam up Jordan’s shirt, touching everywhere because he likes it, he wants to, and his nipples feel like they’re meant to be in Sharky’s hands. 

It’s a bit much apparently, because he makes a frustrated noise and draws up and _oh_ that slide of his cock almost all the way out is another new best feeling. 

Jordan rips his shirt off, and he’s beautiful, gored and inked and burned and cut and all. The body of a survivor. 

There’s something wild in his face, that thing Sharky couldn’t quite place, staring down at him and breathing hard, red and hot where he’s inside Sharky. 

“Fuck it” he says, and then his tongue is in Sharky’s mouth and off course he’s a good kisser, too. 

It’s almost unfair really, but Sharky’s in heaven, leaving sloppy beard burn all over his chin and then his breathing shifts and Jordan’s hand drags down his side. Like he cares.

Just like that he’s coming, messy between them. 

With a groan, Jordan comes inside him and it feels weird and hot and Sharky perversely wants to keep it. 

Jordan rolls off him, sweaty and tired, staring at the ceiling. 

There’s only a moment of silence as Sharky catches his breath.

“So that was super gay” Sharky says, debating whether he can get away with touching Jordan’s wet hair, sticking to his temples with everything they’ve done. It looks soft and dark, like feathers in a way. Sex always makes his brain weird. Weirder.

Jordan makes a wounded noise, deep in his chest, and drops a hand over his eyes. 

“I’m just saying. I want to point out that we’ve gone full homo, so it won’t sound really gay when I say I really wanna suck your dick”. 

One of Jordan’s eyes shoots him a look from under the meat of his hand, surprised and pleased and wary. 

“Not right now obviously, but I wanna do really, really, truly homosexual activities with you” he says, because it’s true and if he doesn’t ask he’s not gonna get it, a lesson he learned a long time ago and it stuck because it involved fire. 

“You’re crazy, you know that?” Jordan says, but he’s smiling and he’s not hiding his face anymore. And Sharky does know, he’s been told by a lot of people, mostly judges and correctional officers. 

“Sure, which is why you can’t say shit about how I wanna cuddle. In a gay way” he answers, wiggling toward him without putting any real muscle into it because you know. Sore. 

Jordan stretches out his arm and folds him in and he still smells somehow great, even if it’s starting to go a little funky, and his chest is comfy even if the sweat is starting to cool. 

Jordan kisses the top of his head, which does something funny to the inside of Sharky’s chest, and immediately passes out with a long whistling snore. 

Which proves he isn’t actually some perfect Terminator type thing sent to eliminate humanity even if he does fuck like he has an engine in him. 

It’s nice. It’s really nice. 

It’s also possible that Sharky is also in way over his head, like freak the fuck out to Hurk about it bad, but that can wait for the morning. 

They might even have morning sex. 

It’s a better reason to get up in the morning than Sharky’s had in a long time. 

He’s smiling as he falls asleep. 

And when he does, he promptly drools all over Jordan’s chest. 

**Author's Note:**

> All I said was that, like in many US States, the Seeds probably banned sex toys and the Drubman-Boshaws likely feel VERY strongly about that. And this just. Happened. Title from [the Jessie Ware song of the same name](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qS_o7XpnEqA). [This is the song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bcGU8OUXCDE) Sharky's trying to remember. That's all I got.


End file.
